Nuova Vita
by The Oddity
Summary: The transition from a weak girl to a soldier and back again.
1. I

_author's note_

Elsa's story early-on in the Agency hasn't been told as far as I know, so I thought I'd see what I could do to try and tell it. Sure, we all know the basic hundred-word drabbles depicting her musings, chock-ridden with angst, but what about an actual story about her when she first arrived, and the time before she fell in love with Lauro?

All leads up to one thing. And I'm sure you know what that thing is.

**N U O V A V I T A** **— N E W L I F E  
**_act I_

In a cold and scornful hospital bed I laid, just merely stirring from my dreams. The details of what had happened to me were scarce, yet still somewhat there — I had tried...to kill myself. For what reasons, I didn't know. I could only remember being bedridden in a hospital similar to the one I found myself in then, and wondered idly if I'd merely awoke in the same place in the same situation.

And then — a man appeared at my side. He was fairly attractive with a lazy swagger about him which I admired at first, although it was when he spoke that I knew I should not cross this man, ever. He watched me with an air of apprehension.

"You are in the infirmary of the Social Welfare Agency, Section 2." He spoke calmly and almost...uninterested. I found what he was telling me intriguing.

"The Social Welfare Agency?" I asked.

"Yes. You," he said, "are a cyborg assassin for the Italian government now."

My eyes widened in almost fear and terror. Me, an assassin for the government? "Well, if I'm an assassin, who is going to train me?"

"I am." Oh, did he sound calm and unworried about this whole thing. I was frightened and curious.

"You're going to train me? But I'm just a child!" The one time in a million that I would ever admit this freely.

"The Agency uses children as assassins. It's just how they — _we_ — do things. Now, no more questions." He rose from his chair, glanced at me, and his eyes no longer reflected coldness or contempt, but perhaps..._fear?_

He began rummaging around on the bedside table. I snuck a quicksilver look and saw a needle for a brief moment before he turned around and stared at me coldly.

"Sit up."

What was this Agency playing at, and who is this man? His request didn't sound like a request at all, but a _command_. My mind swam with questions, and the only thing I felt like doing was interrogating him.

And yet, I followed his order and sat up, and, for the first time, finally realized that I had arms and legs again. How shocking for me! And I spent a good full minute gawking at my hands and arms, for I did not remember having them at the beginning of my unclear dream. My supervisor watched me, unimpressed, and said, "Dammit, stop messing around and give me your arm so I can give you a friggin' shot."

I gazed at him in alarm and ceased my childish antics at once, feeling embarrassed as I held out my arm to him and prepared myself for the slight sting that shots always gave me. It took a long time for the needle to be removed — he must have been injecting me with a lot of something.

When the procedure was finished, I rubbed the sore spot on my arm where the needle had pierced me just when he stood up and began rummaging around on the bedside table again.

"Say, what's your name?" I asked.

"Lauro," he replied absently.

"Lauro... Can I call you Mr. Lauro?"

"Yeah, whatever."


	2. II

**N U O V A V I T A — N E W L I F E  
**_act II_

Accommodations for me had been made in advance for my arrival to the Agency. A dormitory, perfectly barren and new, all for me. Angelica would be staying in a dorm nearby my own, although we seldom spoke to one another. I felt as new and fresh as my dorm room, yet skittish and shy of her, and made sure to steer clear of her presence.

Besides, I was still getting to know this Lauro.

The injection may have done something to me. I felt...different, in a sense that I couldn't remember anything. No memories, nothing. Just life at the Agency. Simultaneously, my feelings for Lauro had increased somewhat. I found him a dedicated person who was only trying to help me and my new "job" as an assassin. I was slowly becoming more loyal.

At eight o'clock in the morning we set off for the market to buy me clothes — dresses, coats, shoes, what have you. Lauro bought whatever I asked for, yet remained his distance from me, very rarely speaking or trying to make conversation. I did not find this disheartening at all, because it was simply the way things worked.

We took a rest at the park. It was a lovely place, bursting with life and greenery; a quiet retreat from the noise of downtown. Part of me wanted to ask Lauro if I could go "exploring", yet I didn't, and sat on the bench with the shopping bags next to me, my hands in my lap. Lauro looked around the area with a bored expression on his face.

Then—

"Um, Mr. Lauro?"

His gaze gradually traveled from staring at some nearby trees over to myself. "What?"

"What...what is my name?"

It sounded like a stupid question. A very, very stupid question. Yet it was...legit, as he still hadn't christened me a name, and I wanted one.

He blinked, and looked to the sky thoughtfully for a minute.

"Elsa," he said. "Elsa deSica."

A smile lit up my face. Elsa deSica. I could work with that. It sounded beautiful — Elsa and Lauro deSica. Someday, hopefully one of the Agency's best fratello on duty. And I would strive hard to make this dream come true, if it would please Lauro.

"Thank you, sir," I finally told him.

"Yeah, yeah." Lauro dismissed me with a wave of his hand, before tucking it comfortably behind his head again as he leaned back in the bench. I had tried not to stare blatantly at him for the longest time, when I felt a tiny prick on my hand. I looked down.

There, scuttling on my hand, was a tiny red and black-spotted ladybug. I blinked, watching the insect wander endlessly over my fingers.

"Mr. Lauro, look," I said, holding up my hand to him.

He stared at the ladybug, unimpressed, and said, "It's a ladybug. Throw it off or something."

I felt abashed by his response to such a wonderful thing. I had to say something, anything — "How...how could you say that? It's a living creature..."

"It's just a damn bug, Elsa."

"But—"

Protest after protest formed in my mind, but I hesitated to speak against my supervisor. I was obedient and respectful, and it wouldn't be respectful of me to say any number of the words looming in my head at that very moment.

"Ugh, fine, I'll do it—" He swatted it off my hand just as easily. I could have burst into tears at that moment, but instead looked furiously away from my handler, face tinted red with anger.

He checked his watch and got to his feet. "Time to get back. Grab the bags and come on."

He walked away. I watched him leave, tiny teardrops forming in my eyes. I shook my head furiously to cleanse myself of my angst and stood up, grabbing the shopping bags resolutely and hurrying after him.

As I caught up with his strides, he looked down at me.

"When we get back to the Agency, you'll start your training," he told me.

"Training? You mean, with a weapon?"

He ignored my inquiry and continued, "I've picked out your guns for you; the SIG P229, the SIG 550, and the 552. You're gonna start shooting with the pistol today." I mused silently, taking this in, although the strange names of these firearms did not register in my mind very well.

"Also, you're to get another shot."

I perked up at the word immediately. "Why another one?"

"Because, in order to make a cyborg functional, they have to be conditioned." His tone was cold and icy, as if I should have already known this fact. We stopped at his car and placed the shopping bags in the back seat, he getting into the driver's side, me in the passenger's seat. The engine fired on and we drove off down the road as I stared out the window, watching the pedestrians on the sidewalk.

I turned my head and looked at Lauro.

"Mr. Lauro, why did you act like that about the ladybug?" I asked.

"Elsa, shut up about the ladybug."

He did not spare me a single glance. I did.


	3. III

**N U O V A V I T A — N E W L I F E  
**_act III_

I no longer remembered very much of that fateful day, but my interest in my handler had increased to a ten-fold. What made me so curious, I do not know, but I certainly wasn't prying to the point of being inquisitive.

At least, I hoped I wasn't.

My culminated emotional development for this man reached a notch above "interest", branching off into other and more private aspects of my heart, beating inside my ribcage and pumping blood throughout my body that never seemed to quit for a minute except when he looked at me. My heart would literally feel like it had skipped a beat.

I didn't know if it was love. I didn't know what love was, despite having the word on my mind. I was Elsa deSica, budding cyborg assassin for the Social Welfare Agency, my body born fresh and anew by my handler. I believed, and still do, that he was the one in the first place that gave me this _au courant_ and inexperienced flesh, though it was not entirely at my disposal. I made the mistake in thinking this at first, and it brought a new story in my chain.

I was training at the indoor shooting range with no one else but the other cyborg girl, Angelica, with her supervisor watching over her carefully. Within a week of my arrival, another addition to the cyborg "team" was introduced, a dark-skinned and blonde-haired girl by the name of Triela, and her handler, whose name I didn't bother remembering at that time. She was already far too new to work with us in our practice, so we avoided her. Or, rather, _I_ avoided her.

During the times I would find myself training alongside Angelica, I began to speak with her. She had extended the hand of friendship to me, and I at least shook it wearily, for my consciousness of Lauro almost wanted to speak out and stop me. So I shook it, fully cognizant of what I was doing, be it betraying Lauro, or making friends.

Angelica was a pleasant girl back in the day — she flashed everyone and anyone with her amiable smile, no matter who it was. She was close to her handler, closer than I was to Lauro, though it didn't take much long for me to catch up to her in those strides. After all, she was the first cyborg.

We found ourselves within the thirty minutes taking a brief break. Marco had called on Angelica to take caesura, and she beckoned me with her, flashing that familiar smile. Without my handler there to instruct me otherwise, I followed her over to the cushiony seats that lined the other side of the frontline for shooting practice and we sat side-by-side, our guns on the ground by our feet as Marco stood and went over to the vending machine.

"Wow, shooting practice really takes a lot out me!" she breathed, leaning back, her head hitting the wall lightly with a _thunk_. She stretched her arms towards the ceiling just as I took off the goggles on my face and Marco returned with not two, but _three_ drinks with him. I accepted mine curiously. It was not, and I hated to say this, usual for me to be treated like that. I never recalled experiencing a feeling like this around Lauro, though I was sure that what I did feel near him was possibly a more evolved version, so I decided to put it past my mind.

Marco handed the next drink to Angelica and then sat down beside her with his, popping the can open with the tab and taking a hearty swig. Angelica did the same, yet merely sipped hers, her pinky extended outwards in the same likeness of how she held everything else in that hand. I watched, mouth hanging open slightly, my expression awestruck.

Angelica opened her right eye and looked at me with an air of amusement.

"You can't say you've never opened a can before," she said, grinning good-naturedly. I had no grasp of any conceivable thought anymore. I think I got like this often.

She reached over and plucked the brumal-feeling can from my weak hands and held it near my face demonstratively. Using her nail, she reached underneath the metal tab and pushed it upwards, puncturing the piece it was attached to and, in essence, opening the can. She pushed it back down and offered it to me with a smile.

"There."

I acquired it in my tepid tenure once more and gazed down at the metal covering before taking a small sip, my pinky brought forth in the same manner as Angelica's when she held something, and found that it tasted...quite good.

Angelica seemed amused by my mimicking of her and said, through her light giggles, "You don't have to do it like that."

"But you do."

"You don't have to copy me. But I guess you can." She simpered just before another man entered the room — my handler.

Lauro's expression turned stony the moment he looked at me. Eyes narrowed in hatred, he barked, "Just what do you think you're doing? Stop playing around and get back to work!"

Marco rose halfway from his seat before my handler silenced him with a glare. I was speechless. I had done just what my mind had warned me of, neglecting Lauro's orders in favor of "making friends". I didn't dare glance at Angelica as I placed the can beside my seat and picked up my gun, turned to my disappointed supervisor, and said, "Yes, sir. I...I apologize for my substandard actions, and I realize that I've disrespected you by not following your orders."

He sniffed, his black eyes traveling from me downward to Angelica, whom I still did not dare spare a look. I knew, in my mind, that if I did gaze upon her, my heart might burst with lament.

Looking back up at me, he said, "I suggest you do like a good _cyborg_ and focus on your work, not on your peers." He turned and walked away, leaving a cold and shock-ridden atmosphere in his wake.

As I picked up my goggles and placed them across my eyes, I managed to sneak a glance at Angelica. She looked teary-eyed and offended while Marco watched her with great concern and extended his hand to pat her comfortingly on the shoulder. I stood back up with haste and made for my spot at the frontline wordlessly, and began practicing my shooting, while a young girl cried silently, behind me.


	4. IIII

_author's note_

You know, I'm not sure if it shows or not, but this whole story was partially inspired by SeraphJewel's "Vita e Morte". Just a random tidbit of information there for you.

**N U O V A V I T A** **— N E W L I F E  
**_act IIII_

I didn't speak to Angelica ever again after that day. We both seemingly forgot about the incident, but she seemed more weary of me and I her, so upon a silent agreement, we decided that it would be best not to associate any longer. I felt some compunction for our lost friendship, but Lauro would tell me relentlessly that work was more important, and so it was. Every day became a "routine" for me; I would wake up, go to the mess hall and eat breakfast, grab the gun I planned on training with, and head out to whichever shooting range I preferred, or whichever Lauro specified for me. I think the incident had prompted him to take a more active role as my supervisor, as he was now standing with me, watching over my training with his critical eye and scrutinizing my abilities as he saw fit. With this more assiduous side of him, he brought out the same in me. I started to become indefatigable of training, working on my hand-to-hand combat skills and my gunmanship, never missing the relationship I might have had with Angelica.

A fourth girl appeared within a week proceeding the incident. I did not know her name or her handler and I did not bother to find out. I finally had work to do: Lauro informed me of my first solo field assignment to test my abilities, and I knew I must push myself to ensure good success. It was inevitable.

You see, the injections I received during the week affixed my emotions for my supervisor. I literally went pink in the face whenever he would so much as glance at me and say, "What are you smiling about?" In that instance, I unhesitatingly ousted my dreamy character and replaced it with the stern, severe look of a true soldier. This always seemed good enough for him, and if it were good enough for my dearest Lauro, then it would be fine for me.

On the eve of my first field mission, after a month's worth of culminated efforts, Lauro and I stood around the other side of a two-story brick building. I felt nervous, nervous to satisfy him, nervous to get caught or seen or mess up... My mind raced with woes and I clutched my holstered pistol for reassurance and looked up at my handler. He met my gaze with his usual monotonously bored face, arms crossed.

"Now, you can hear them, can't you?" I blinked. My targets were a few people on the other side of this building, and they were indeed noisy enough for even my acute ears to pick up on. Why Lauro asked me such a useless question, though, I didn't understand.

"They-they're loud," I commented quietly.

"Exactly." He peered around the corner. "And when they come out, I want you to fight them hand-to-hand. If worst comes to worst, shoot them." I nodded in affirmation, my hold on my pistol reconciling for my nerves. I knew exactly what Lauro had said: if I fail this, I've failed him. Simply put.

He glanced around the edge a second time. "Now. Go out," he whispered urgently to me. I stayed stock-still for a minute, terrified of what may become of this, and he had to usher me out from around the corner himself. I stood in the middle of the road like a deer in headlights when the men I was after came around the corner, all laughing raucously.

And then they stopped. The one in the middle of the group stared at me dead-on, before a wide smirk graced his young features and he pushed past the others and strutted towards me, head held high. I felt rooted to the spot.

"Well, what's a pretty girl like you doing out so late at night?" He winked, leaning down to my face. I could smell his malodorous breath — beer. He was obviously drunk, I realized this when my eyes trailed over to the empty beer bottles laying scattered on the pavement. His friends wandered over and stood beside him, eyeing me with curiosity.

"Say, man, she looks kinda small," commented the one on his left, a red-haired fellow whose askew shirt and ruffled hair gave off the distinct pretense of a man who had just been fired from his corporate job. "Are you sure she's worth it?"

"Shut up, Achim, can't you see I'm working here?" the middle one retorted snappishly before turning his faux-sultry gaze upon me again. "So, how's about going back to my place?"

"I'd rather not," I replied, sighing and looking at the ground dejectedly.

"Aww, why not, baby? I'm sure Calvino could show you a really, really good time, if y'know what I mean," came the man on Calvino's right, who snickered at his own supposed wittiness.

"So, how's about it—" He reached down and grasped my wrist.

In the split of a second, I had jerked my hand away from him and kicked him in his stomach. He fell over backwards and hit the ground between his buddies. They looked from him to me and grabbed for their weapons with haste, the redhead lunging at me with his Swiss Army knife, the other hurriedly loading a MAC-10. I dodged to the side and tumbled across the ground to evade the knife, when I felt something hit me in my shoulder. I cocked my head to the side and managed to the see blood trickling out of the wound at a fast pace.

I pushed myself off the ground with my hands and went straight for the carrier of the MAC-10, punching him across the face with my right fist and knocking the gun out of his hands. He fell backwards with the impact, only to be pulled back up by the collar as I held him with just one hand, his body dangling inches from the ground.

"How _dare_ you," I hissed, throwing him into the brick building. He slammed against the front of it and slid down into a heap, unconscious. The second man surveyed the scene with abject horror, split between whether to go after me or run away while he still could.

I made a move to go for him when someone grasped me firmly around the waist and held me there. I felt the coolness of a blade against my throat and only had to sniff the air to know the same disgusting breath — the man known as Calvino had got me.

I cut him off before he could start his sentence. "Try anything,_ anything_, and I swear to the good Lord that it will be the biggest regret of your life."

"The good Lord ain't here tonight, babe," he whispered in my ear, pressing the knife just so very slightly to my neck. "Now, are you going to come back to my place, or do I have to do somethin' kinda drastic-like?"

I wondered silently if it came to that level of extremeness, if Lauro would have to intervene.

Closing my eyes as the filthy excuse for a man held me closer against him, I came to a realization that no, Lauro will not have intervened tonight. I threw my feet out from beneath and slid out of the man's clutches, catching my fall swiftly with my hands and throwing my left leg out as I spun and knocked Calvino to the ground. Were I any better at this, I would have caught the knife as it soared through the air and clattered to the cement roadway.

Alas, I was only a beginner. I hopped to my feet in a battle stance as Calvino sluggishly pushed himself upright, glanced down at his hands, and realized that he was missing his knife.

I did not wait for him. I ran at him and snatched his right arm with both of mine, the blood from my shoulder wound spattering the ground and my dress artistically as I moved, and heaved him halfway across the street from me. I waited to ascertain that he was _really_ knocked out once he hit the pavement before turning and focusing my attention on the remaining man, who was still looking unsure of himself as he stared at the knife in his hand.

"Well?" I snapped, causing him to jump and drop the blade. "Why don't you come at me like these other two did? Are you scared of _small_, unworthy little girl—"

"Elsa, that's enough."

I froze. Lauro came out from around the corner, his hands shoved in his pockets, inspecting my handiwork. I merely watched his critical eye, feeling like a maladroit idiot just standing in the middle of the lifeless roadway after the commotion that had preceded it.

Eventually, he gave it a passable shrug, and turned to me.

"Take care of him and let's get the Hell out of here."


	5. V

**N U O V A V I T A — N E W L I F E  
**_act V_

The cool, crisp and powerful November breeze brushes against my face, playing with my blonde braids and causing my hat to threaten to fall with the force of their movement. My shoes crunched across the countless, colorful yet not-at-all-exuberant leaves of autumn as I took my morning stroll around the building of the Social Welfare Agency, just before dawn.

I realized a long time ago, that there was something angelic about the sunrise. It was both pleasing and rallying, and, in some instances, solacing. I awakened several hours before the other cyborg girls (of which their numbers had increased over the past month; now there were two more novices whom I did not display any sense of amiability towards whatsoever, nor did I believe they truly knew I existed) simply to watch the bright sun peek over the treetops once more and signal a new day our part of the world.

One might say this was the last part of me that remained before I became lost in my infatuation for my supervisor.

Even so, I heaved a sigh, enjoying the feeling of frosty air passing through my lungs.

"Aah?"

My peripheral vision noticed then that one of my braids had come loose. Hastily, I turned to grab my quickly unraveling blonde hair as the wind breezed through it, only to fumble with the black tie for a minute and then lose it. Irritation, thy name is Elsa deSica's hair.

Deciding I looked rather ludicrous at that moment, I snatched the remaining strand and undid it, pocketing the black tie and sweeping it off my shoulder. I then grabbed the blonde locks in their entirety and began tying one whole braid.

Because, with only one tie, there was not much else to be had.

In my tedious hair tying, I happened to glance up, and for the time being, I was captivated. Just a single sparkling ray of pellucid sunshine shot out from the Autumn-submerged trees, and it went for miles, so far away I could not know what had stopped its path from reaching the enticing sights of other people than myself. My hands fell from my shoulder where I'd ceased braiding for the time and fell to my sides, I merely standing on the vast, empty grounds of the Social Welfare Agency's outdoor range, watching the sun rise.

Several minutes later, the sun was hovering above me in the faintly blue sky, and I had finished braiding my hair.

At the very moment my mind reminded me that Lauro would be looking for my person, I heard a familiar voice bark just behind me, causing myself to jump in consternation and turn around.

"What are you doing?" Lauro narrowed his eyes an almost suspicious manner at me. My cheeks turned pink and my voice seemed to have stopped working in that instance, and only seemed to jumpstart back into function when he persisted, quite impatiently.

"I...I was watching the sunrise, sir." Perfectly true.

"There are other things you could do than waste time, Elsa."

Also true.

There was, really, no excuse for my behavior as I walked towards him, defeated and looking apologetic all in the same regard. He twitched when I came to a halt directly in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lauro." I looked up at him as I spoke these words, hoping they would seem more absolute than they already were.

He blew me off with a shrug, frowning.

"Get your 552 and let's get to work." He paused, eyeing me closely. "...And why is your hair in only one braid?"


	6. VI

**N U O V A V I T A** **— N E W L I F E  
**_act VI_

New Year's Eve had arrived before I'd even realized its presence within the Social Welfare Agency. I regarded the day as of no particular importance to me, except that it marked my first half of a year at the Agency. Lauro, however, had gone out to the city, leaving me with a simple injunction to continue with my training at the shooting range, and no information of when he would return.

I took up my post at the indoor range shortly after his departure, the entire room quiescent and remote, except for myself. I loaded my SIG P229 with preamble and held it upwards with both hands, aiming for the target with fastidious care as my finger closed in on the trigger and fired, filling the room with a cacophonous _bang_.

As I hastened to see how I did, a girl's voice came from behind me.

"Hmm, you're a good shot." I spun around on-heel and was greeted by a dark-skinned girl, her blonde hair held up in two ponytails. She grinned jovially at me.

"I'm Triela," she introduced herself, holding out a hand to me. I shifted somewhat uncomfortably, averting her effervescent smile as I reluctantly shook her hand. I let go as soon as I could.

"Why...are you here?" I asked her quietly.

"Huh?"

"Why are you here?" A little more loudly and firmer sounding.

"Didn't care for the celebrations," she said airily, brushing a pigtail off her shoulder and glancing at the door.

I shifted a second time and murmured, "I see."

We stood in silence for a minute, and the tenseness present in the air seemed to be maximized to a tenfold within that time. Triela started humming some jaunty tune I took no mind to.

"So what's your name?" she asked, suddenly.

"Elsa..."

"Oh, you're part of the Elsa-Lauro team. Where is he, anyway?"

My cheeks flushed as I stared at the ground determinedly. "He...left."

"Ah. Celebrating New Year's, then," Triela said, and I nodded. "Why didn't you go with him?"

"He...he didn't ask me to," I replied. "Mr. Lauro told me to stay here and practice my aim."

Triela made a vague "hmm" sound as she gazed upwards at the ceiling.

"Do you...like your handler?" I inquired, a single, meaningless question.

"Eh," Triela gave a hapless little shrug of her shoulders. "I only like him enough to do my job right. I think it's the same way for him, too." She paused. "...Do you like _your_ handler, Elsa?"

I smiled. "Yes..."

"Sometimes, I don't know about that," Triela murmured, looking behind her.

"H-huh?"

"Well, I mean," she sighed, "what if he doesn't like you back? Then it was all for nothing."

For some reason, I clenched my trembling fists, my face growing red with anger at her sentiments. A surreal feeling overcame me; it was as if something was dictating my emotions at this point. As if the mere thought of Lauro not reciprocating my love was inconceivable, like a horrific nightmare.

Perhaps I was a brat, as he would eloquently put it many months proceeding that incident.

"How could you say that?" I asked Triela, my voice quivering with piquing outrage. "Of course Lauro likes me back! Why else...why else would he invest so much in me?"

Triela's eyes widened and she held up her hands, grinning anxiously.

"Hey, hey... I was just saying..." she said casually. "Don't take it personally. I'm sure Lauro loves you, Elsa."

I huffed irritably and pushed past her, still clutching my P229 pistol in my fisted hand. I headed for the door on my right when Triela followed after me.

"Elsa—"

I whirled around instantaneously, pointing my gun in her face. She froze.

"Leave me alone," I intoned ominously, glaring at her with such a force of hatred that I must have rendered her speechless for a very long time, because she did not call out to me when I departed down the hall, tears running freely down my face.

Within the logical and rational portion of my thoughts, questions were evoked: why did her words hurt me so? When did Lauro start to mean this much to me?

Why was I running and _crying?_

The questions subsided to give way to one clarion realization — I would dedicate myself, from now on, to Lauro. I will not dillydally with my training, I will not fraternize with the other cyborgs, and I will never shed another tear. Tears were signals of weakness; and weakness was not to be had in my job. It led to uselessness. Lauro did not like weakness. I could not be weak.

I stopped in my tracks, halfway down the vacant, barren hallway. I wiped my tears on my sleeve, grim-faced and resolute, turning around and walking right back to the indoor shooting range.

As I approached the door, it opened up, and Triela appeared in the doorway, staring at me as if I had three heads.

"Elsa..."

"If you want to train, then so be it," I intoned, voice perfectly moderate, although there was a certain acidic and dark edge embedded within it that I felt could cut anything to shreds, were it a weapon in my hands at that moment. "I only ask that you do not speak to me." I paused, and somewhere deep inside, I knew this was as civil as I would be towards these girls, ever again.


	7. VII

**N U O V A V I T A** **— N E W L I F E**  
_act VII_

I awoke per usual in the delicate and yielding softness of my bed, and the same despondent room I'd come to know so well. My dorm was enveloped in repressed light from my curtains, which perpetually hung closed over my window. I got up, wandering over to my closet and opening it, still in a half-asleep stupor.

I finally departed from my room exactly an hour after I'd woke up (preparing myself for the day was a long and tedious task, often on account of my braids) and headed for the June-submersed courtyard with my SIG 550 assault rifle, planning on taking a shortcut to the outdoor shooting range and skipping breakfast entirely. I did this rather frequently.

As I tilted my head back and yawned, I saw something distinctly pink wheeling towards me. I blinked; focusing my green eyes, and saw that it was a girl in a horrific pink sweater. She looked weary as she approached me in her chair.

"I...I didn't know it would be so hot out today..." she panted, wiping the sweat from her brows while I merely glared on.

She paused, peering precariously at me, before smiling. "I've never met _you_ before."

"I'm Elsa," I drawled, avoiding her gaze. "Lauro is my handler." I spoke with a certain pride in my voice, although the anomalous young girl before me was unfazed by my obvious contempt of her presence, and continued grinning.

"You aren't new, are you?" she inquired effervescently.

"I've been here as long as everyone else has." Another thing I prided myself on — my excellence. I was only as good as I was because of indefatigable training regimes pursued on a daily basis, and I had at least two halves of two years of this behind me. My supervisor did his job very, very well, and I did mine just as.

"Oh. Well, I haven't met you before," the pink sweater said. "My name is Angelica."

My eyes widened as I realized something — I _knew_ this girl from some time long ago. Why I remembered this tiny piece of information while she acted under the pretense that she had never seen me in her entire life, I had no clue, however.

"Angelica," I repeated slowly, mulling the name over.

"Yep," she said. "My handler is Marco. I haven't been on the field for a while, though..." She glanced down at the wheelchair she sat in, her cheeks going somewhat pink in embarrassment. She seemed to me too timid to be a worthwhile cyborg. I started to wonder what standards this place even had, if any at all.

We stood (rather, I stood and she sat) in silence. I fidgeted with my rifle occasionally, casting anxious glances past her and hoping that she would perhaps take the hint that I was precipitant.

"Well, I have to get back to the hospital now." Angelica smiled up at me and started to wheel past my form. I looked behind me and watched her leave, sighing in relief before continuing down my path.

I would arrive to the outdoor shooting range to find it quite occupied, to add to my irritation of the day. Ignoring the other fratello and wondering where _my_ supervisor was, I picked a vacant spot and held my rifle upwards, aiming at the head of my target one hundred yards away from me.

There was something quite wrong with me, and it was that I had always preferred to operate alone. My missions up until now had all been executed solely by me; I'd never required any "back-up" because the endeavors were easy game, and they were easy game because I learned to work by myself from Lauro's training — this meant, I was far ahead of the other cyborgs as an assassin, and I toiled without the need of their assistance. I prided myself on myself; my marksmanship, my strength and alacrity in combat, my dedication, and my resourcefulness.

Best of all, I needed no one but Lauro. It was him who taught me my attributes and abilities through assiduous direction. And yet, he gave me my life back — returning blood to my veins and control to my mind. I realized that I would need to repay him.

And what else matched up to the cost of a new life, other than the lives of others?

I fired indolently at the target, and ignored the slight recoil of the rifle in my arms. I frequently found myself becoming _fainéant_ when I thought of Lauro. It was a blissful feeling that seemingly originated from the depths of my mind, and caused me to dillydally with what I was doing at the time.

One of the girls shifting to aim her rifle beside me caught my attention. I blinked, snapping out of my fantasy-like state irrevocably to focus on my task at hand. I couldn't stand to appear weak or incompetent around the rest of the cyborgs. Perhaps it was the resolution I had made long ago that I, strangely, still recalled — Lauro and I would be the best fratello on duty some day. Until then, we have a reputation to uphold, and reputations become frail from signs of weakness.

I glared bitterly at thoughts of weakness and fired at my target with more irate enthusiasm than I'd intended, merely scraping the side of the "head" of the cardboard piece. With my eyes narrowed defiantly in hatred for yet more incompetence in the presence of others, I didn't notice when another came up and stood beside me.

"Pitiful," intoned Lauro, hands shoved in his pockets. "You can do better than that." I gave a slight shriek in surprise and my fingers slipped up, nearly dropping my gun and yet simultaneously saving it from the hard and earthy ground.

"I was wondering where you were, sir," I said breathlessly, watching him precariously from the corner of my eye.

"Busy," he replied, nonchalantly. "I do other things than just standing around watching you shoot cardboard, you know." There was no humor in his words. "But anyway, just keep it up. I'll come collect you at one o'clock or something."

I nodded. "I understand, sir." I waited until he departed from the grounds and resumed practice.

By one o'clock, Lauro had still not come for me. I noticed the rest of the fratello teams packing up and leaving for lunch, and silently wished I had not skipped on breakfast; I was growing vastly more aware of the gaunt feeling in my stomach. Loyalty, however, was favored higher than my own needs — Lauro said specifically to stay until he arrived, and to disobey orders was like committing treachery.

Yet...

I watched miserably as a young girl with brown hair and her significantly taller supervisor were the last ones to leave, and sighed. My SIG 550 had run out of ammunition long ago and I'd foolishly forgotten to bring spare clips. Defeated, I placed the firearm on the solid earth and plopped down beside it, flexing my hands in front of my face.

By early nightfall, I became a tad angry, and wondered what the hell Lauro was doing to warrant this kind of situation.

Another fraction of my inner self calmed my woes and irritations, allowing me a glimmer of a chance to compose myself and cease the needless anger at my supervisor. "It's not right," it said, "you're the one indebted to him, so you must endure whatever he does. Who knows — this may be a test of your patience."

I closed my eyes and breathed in the seasonable night air. Indeed, a test.

I waited some more, until it was finally what I was sure would be eleven PM, had I access to a clock. A dense, eerie fog settled over the grounds, while cicadas chirped their incessant calls into the sky. I was intrigued by the weather shift; it was clear only an hour or so ago.

Whenever Lauro was to arrive, it certainly wouldn't be lunchtime. I snickered in spite of myself.

Not before too long did my eyes began to droop, heavy with sleep, while my stomach twitched in hunger. I didn't know what had kept me awake for so long; I believed it was a mixture of my will and the inexplicable fact that I had not eaten all day. Nevertheless, I used the stock of my rifle to hold myself up, searching the mist with my tired eyes for any sign of another human being.

"_Ho scelto questo, io tollero questo..._" I muttered.

'I chose this, I tolerate this.'

Somehow, that didn't sound quite right.


	8. VIII

_author's note_

Do note that a good majority of this chapter and the next one are a recount from episode nine of the anime; you can't really expect me to be able to do much else. I changed a few minor details to keep it at least somewhat original, however, but by no means do I aim for this to sound like a rewrite. Merely a part of the story.

**N U O V A V I T A** **— N E W L I F E  
**_act VIII_

I felt as though I was thrust into the bustling city of Siena; people walked past me everywhere I turned. I was a speck, a mere ant in the social constructs of society. It was a lovely wintry day in the Piazza del Campo — the sun pressed down above me, but the air was chilled for early November. I was kept warm by the scarf around my neck and the coat adorning my body, so frosty air was of no concern.

With Lauro's voice in my ear, I couldn't have been happier, one might say.

"...The police as well?" I inquire, after a moment's pause.

"Yeah. It's better because they don't recognize your face. Still, don't be careless," he replied nonchalantly at the other end of my cell phone. I made a tiny "mm" sound to affirm that I'd heard him. "Take photographs so we can threaten the police prefecture."

"Yes sir," I said, pressing the 'OFF' button as I reach a hotel structure. I stroll effortlessly past the bellboys and luggage carts, and towards the staircase, clambering up it. As I reach the third floor, I notice a man sitting in a chair by a door. He regards me lazily while I walk past him and up the stairs that will take me to the fourth floor.

I stop short in front of a tall window and gaze outside it. I phone Lauro.

"Mr. Lauro." I intoned; I had never quite ceased adding the title to his name out of respect, although we had been a fratello for nearly a year by this point. "This is Elsa."

"Oh," he says, "how does it look?"

"Same as yesterday, just one policeman guarding the door."

"I see. Use your rifle and don't hold back."

"Yes."

"Don't forget to take pictures."

"Yes, sir." I hang up a second time and continue my way up the stairs, until I reach a vacuous elevator. I enter it — I am particularly appreciative of the relative uncrowdedness of the dainty room, and demonstrate this by smoothly pulling my hat and scarf off simultaneously and placing my violin case down. I believe it was very clever of the Social Welfare Agency to have the cyborgs use Amati cases to conceal our weapons; nobody spared me a second glance when I ascended the steps. I shed my coat as well.

I kneel down and pick up my SIG 551 carbine gracefully and lithely, and grab a fresh clip. I stand back up and fasten the magazine to my weapon as if I lived and breathed for this — which, I did, in a way.

I press the elevator number for the third floor and wait against the side of the carriage, out of sight, my rifle at the ready, and my mind silently corrects me: _I live for Lauro, and he is why I do this._

Fair enough, I thought, watching the elevator doors slide open slowly. Any minute now—

I fire a barrage of ammunition at the policeman sitting in his chair, watching his figure contort roughly to the impact of my bullets and his blood spatter the wall behind him. I remain stoic-faced and act swiftly; I fire into the door handle and send a hurling kick straight at it. It burst open at once. I seemed to almost fly inside the room, striking down the two men dressed in suits with my carbine before they could even draw their guns fast enough. I stop short in the middle of the room when two other (considerably less well dressed) men came hurtling out from the doors that stood opposite of me on both sides.

The man on my right fires two rounds at me; I block them effortlessly and hear them _tink_ and rebound off my the side of my gun. I, in turn, repay this favor, getting him three times in the chest. Satisfied, I turned, only to have my SIG kicked out of my hands by the other attacker. For a moment, I glanced at it, and a very grim frown crossed my face. My feet slid somewhat as I grabbed his arm, pulling him to the ground easily. I pull out my P229 pistol and shoot him once, twice, thrice — I seldom counted the bullets I spent.

I stow away my pistol and exchanged it for a camera. The dust of my battle has settled, for what little dust there would be if the room was not so well kempt, and I begin to strategically snap photos of the bloodied men. It didn't matter if I did not get the blood they gave up so unwillingly in my assault; they looked very much dead otherwise.

After a certain amount of time, I decided that it was good enough, and pick up my SIG carbine as I leave the room. I am stealthy and careful — if anybody saw me with a firearm, many, many questions would arise.

And, if I ever got anymore unlucky, a bellboy carrying a luggage rack like the ones I saw downstairs came around the corner. He stops, staring at my weapon and me, aghast. I exhaled, irritably hoisting the SIG up and unloading its last few rounds into the man's skull and chest. He fell over unceremoniously, a puddle of his blood forming around his head.

As I move to lift and drag him into the room I'd just cleared, I paused. Something about him... He hit too close to home. I did not know; I'd never heard of the cyborgs being prescient, though I sincerely doubted it was prescience whatsoever.

I quietly attempted to seek out humor in my thoughts, in an effort to dispel the frivolous feeling that'd struck me, but I'd found that I had quite lost the ability to laugh and the emotion stuck. I threw the bellboy into the room with less finesse than I'd expected and closed the door, picking up my SIG 551 and continuing inside the elevator and pressing the button for the base floor. I acted quickly — first, stowing my rifle back inside its case and shutting it with a _snap_. Then I fasten my coat back onto me, tie my scarf securely around my neck, and place my hat upon my head.

All in a day's work, I suppose.

I grasp the handle of my Amati violin case and pick it up just as the elevator comes to a halt at the first floor. The doors slide open, and I strolled out of them. I had toiled with that bellboy; Lauro probably believed I was late. The thought sent a surge of mild anger at myself and I ran down the stone pathway and arch constructs, slowing only when I caught sight of his car.

He was talking on his cell phone. I walked at a leisurely pace towards his window, a smile upon my features, and tapped the window. "Mr. Lauro." I indicated the top of the panel, as if asking him to roll his window down. He did so.

"Are you done?" he asks.

"Yes, it was very easy, and—"

"Did you take pictures?" He cuts me off, coolly and calmly. My eyes widen and the smile on my face quickly dissolves into a somewhat abashed frown. I never understood his lack of a desire to hear me speak, while I so readily hung on his every word.

"Well?" he presses insistently.

"Y-yes, sir," I said, grabbing the camera out from my pocket and offering to him, the expression on my face unchanging. He examines the device critically.

"You still have some film left. You should have used it up." His words feel like daggers to me, even though I am not supposed to know the feel of one.

He holds the camera up and takes a picture of his reflection in the rear-view mirror. "That'll do it." He waves the camera to my face and tells my to print them all when we get back.

"Um, yes." I take the camera and stow it back away.

"All right," he mutters, "let's get out of here." I give him a curt nod and walk around to the other side of the car, sitting down briskly and placing my violin case on the floor of the passenger's seat. I fasten a seatbelt to myself and we drive off into Siena.

I am silent on the ride home. Lauro receives phone calls occasionally and picks them up, and I hastily make to turn the volume on the radio down for him, hoping to elicit some sort of thanks. It never comes, and I sit back in my seat, hands in my lap.

We return to the Agency just in time for me to attend my class. I bid goodbye to Lauro and make swiftly for my dormitory to set my guns down and get my schoolbooks; as I speed down the hall, the rays from the sun bounce upon my figure from the windows. I stop short of a door and walk casually inside the classroom, where the other cyborgs are just now conjoining. They sit apart from me in a tight-knit group; I prefer to sit in the other row, by myself. It is symbolic of my antisocial nature and my requirement of concentration when toiling with school.

Hours pass. I listen to the drum of the instructor's voice and scratch my pencil on my work, ignoring the blonde-haired girl offering to help the others with their school.

And then, suddenly, she addresses me. "Elsa, do you need help with anything?"

I regard her dejectedly. "No."

"All right." She sounds somewhat disappointed.

She makes me feel uneasy. They all do, to an extent. I cannot perform well in front of others for fear of messing up; it's just _me_. I have tried to remedy this incompetence the best I can, and the only way how is to simply go on missions alone. It suits me, but I always fear...

Class ends very shortly afterwards. As I make my way out of the classroom, the blonde-haired girl stops me.

"Elsa?"

I turn around, glaring at her. "Yes, what?"

"Er..." Triela pauses, looking at the floor beneath me. "How...are you doing?"

"I'm fine," I spat, attempting to get away from her. I don't make idle conversation — it is not worth my while to talk to these girls, yet Triela always tries. It is infuriating.

"You...went after the Republicans today, didn't you?" Triela asks, tentatively.

"Yes, I did."

"How did Siena look?"

"..." I am quiet. This girl doesn't mean her words. She sounds forced and unhappy in this position.

"You know fully well what Siena looks like," I intoned harshly after a minute. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find Lauro."

She allows me to depart down the hall and towards my dormitory without word.

I return to the safe confines of my home and place my schoolbooks down on top of my bed for the time being. The camera still sits upon my windowsill. I pick it up, scrolling through the film before placing it in my pocket and leaving my room for the nearest computer. There is a pleasant room filled with them somewhere in the Agency, and I spend the next few hours looking for it.

When I finally reach it, an unknown man is sitting at one of the computers. I walk over to him and offer him the camera.

"Could you print these out? My handler has requested me to do so," I explained, at the inquiring look on his face. He sat upright and took the camera wordlessly.

"Yeah, I can do that," he said. "Just go wait outside."

I walked outside and leaned against the wall, beside the door, and waited patiently with my hands clasped behind my back.

_I wonder what Lauro is doing right now,_ I mused, watching the window across from me. I smiled.

A few instances later the man opened the door again and handed a bundle of photographs to me. I regard him with a nod and leave to seek out my supervisor.

Along the hall, I decide to flip through the photos. I paused on the last one.

Lauro's face, reflected back from the mirror in his Jeep. His eye, watching me. Did my cheeks turn just faintly pink? I think they did.

"Elsa!" A voice in front of me caused me to jump and I glanced up to see the very same eyes and face looking at me. I fumbled with the pictures and inconspicuously tucked the one of him in my pocket. He approached me.

"So those are the pictures?" he asked, taking them from me and scanning them critically. "They're fair enough. I can use them."

"Yes, sir."

He pauses, and looks at me. "Let's go have dinner," he says, finally, and turns around, hands in his pockets, and proceeds to walk away. I follow him at a distance.

Up ahead, I can see two people. Lauro stops and I continue walking until I pause beside him, watching the twosome close in.

"Yo, Giuseppe!" I blink and look up at my supervisor and his perceivably atypical manner of greeting the unknown strangers in front of me.

The man he had addressed as Giuseppe replied, "Lauro? I thought you were going after the Republicans in Toscana?" The girl beside him shifted uncomfortably and seemed as if she were trying not to stare at me.

"I've already finished with that. It's just the prefecture police are protecting them, so I need to add a few last-minute fixes," Lauro answered, grinning.

"I see."

My supervisor fell silent after that, as if he were considering something. He looked at me. My cheeks brightened at once.

"If you two aren't busy this week, I could use some help, if you don't mind." He grins at Giuseppe again.

My eyes widen instantaneously. Help? Why do we need help? Am I not good enough? I searched my earlier actions today for weakness. It must have been that bellboy for holding me up.

That _damn_ bellboy.

It was unusual for me to swear like that — Lauro did fairly often, so perhaps by his fault, the word seemed to integrate itself into my thoughts, as if it belonged there. I didn't care.

I fell back into the conversation stream.

"I'll explain later tonight," Lauro said.

"All right."

"Okay, see you later, then." The other fratello departs, leaving my supervisor and I alone in the hallway once more. I am saddened greatly by his choice, yet not quite sure if I should inform him of this.

No, probably not.

Dinner is a sad affair. I barely register the taste of the food, my mind too tangled in my thoughts and woes to notice. Lauro leaves quickly to attend to some work he has left, and I, deciding that any further attempts to eat would be in vain, exit after him and return to my dormitory.

The room is comforting. I take out the picture of his face and stare at it.

At the opposite end of my room, there is a lone frame. It has been there since I first entered my dormitory, and nothing has ever occupied its blank space.

I now have something to put in this frame, however. Something dear, something wonderful... I cross my room and pick it up, and carefully slide the photograph of Lauro into it. I place it back down on the windowsill.

For a few minutes, all I do is watch it, painted against the nighttime scene. The soft air blows the curtains.

This, I thought, is not frivolous. This is my happiness.

I take my SIG 550 and a spare cloth, and sit down on the chair by the window. I begin polishing my rifle with ease.

After a moment's notice, I pause, and stare at his picture. My cheeks turned the faintest pink like before, and I can see my face reflected in the glass of the frame. I am glad to have this, this one sliver of happiness. My supervisor is not always with me, and during those times, I feel completely and inexorably lonely.

I hate loneliness.

A knock comes at my door. I am startled out of my reverie and stand up, cradling the SIG closely to me. "Who is it?"

The door creaks open slowly, and the form of the very girl I encountered earlier steps inside my dormitory shyly. My eyes narrow, and I look away. "What is it?"

"I thought...we could talk for a bit," the brown-haired girl spoke.

"There is nothing we need to discuss."

"But we might be working together soon, so I thought..."

I sit down promptly and pass her a glare. "Then let me explain something to you," I began irritably. "If you get in Lauro's way, I won't forgive you."

"Why?" the girl replies, distraught. "Why can't you get along with everybody else?"

I heave a small sigh and run the rag up my rifle. Why do these girls insist on attacking me for conversation? What was there to gain from it? I did not need to be bothered. I did my work as I am supposed to and that is all there is to it. There is nothing in talking with people.

"Which is most important to you — the person in charge of you, or the other cyborgs?" I finally manage to inquire. I do not wait for her to answer.

"Lauro is the most important, to me. I don't care about anything else. I will spend all of my time for Lauro... As I polish this rifle, I think of Lauro... As I speak these words, even now, I think of Lauro..." I trailed off.

In a stunning rebound, I turned at the girl before me and burst out vehemently, "We don't even know how long we'll live! You all lack affection for your handlers!"

I glare straight through her as she watches me, completely aghast.

And she begins to tremble, as if she were about to burst into the tears I always held back.

"That's...that's not true! I love Giuseppe very, very much!" she retorts, the very silver of a teardrop running down her cheek. I stared at her momentarily.

"Is that so?" I said, running the rag along the barrel of my gun once more. "Then you wasted your time coming here." I paused. "Leave."

She stands stock-still, glaring at me, before turning and storming out of my dormitory and shutting the door behind her.

Outside of my window, a bug chirps dolefully into the night. I am quiet, very quiet. I can hear the girl's sobs beyond my door.

_She is crying,_ I mused. _Something, I will never do._


	9. IX

**N U O V A V I T A** **— N E W L I F E**  
_act IX_

I did not, suffice to say, sleep well that night — continuously I awoke from fitful dreams to my halcyon bedroom and its barrenness that struck a nerve within me. It made me uncomfortably aware of what was to come later that day. With a sigh, I would turn on my side and close my eyes, attempting to lure sleep to me, for I would need it.

At precisely ten AM I was dressed and ready to depart. I walked with my supervisor down to the parking lot, my eyes determinedly shut, although I knew where I was going by the sound of Lauro's footsteps. As he came to a halt, I did.

The trunk of a car closes.

"Are you ready?" Lauro inquires.

"Yeah," the voice I recognized as belonging to the other girl's handler responded. "I've already sent the bulky equipment."

"You're cleverer than I thought."

"Guess so."

I can feel a pair of eyes on me, but I do not regard them whatsoever. I know they belong to that girl.

"C'mon, let's get in the car," Lauro mutters, nudging me. I nod curtly and make my way around to the passenger's side of his vehicle, placing my Amati violin case on the floor where it usually sat as I hoisted myself inside and snapped the seatbelt on. Lauro lingered outside momentarily to give Giuseppe directions. I have finally opened my eyes and stare at my hands. My supervisor climbs inside and sits, starting the engine up. The other fratello's car starts seconds afterward.

As he puts his seatbelt on, he spares me a very quick glance, and backs out of the parking space. No words are exchanged.

It is only hours later when we are on the road to Siena once more that anything is spoken, and before that, I watch the other fratello in the side mirror. She...is smiling. The girl, who had cried so effortlessly the other night, is smiling as radiantly as she could cry. Somewhere within, it struck a note in my mind.

I never smiled with Lauro. We did not laugh pleasantly together; we did not spend happy times together... And it hurt. It hurt almost as much as the concept of him finding me incapable of handling a mission by myself. So stricken suddenly by grief, I turned away, and instead looked the man who had never been kind to me.

"Mr. Lauro."

"Hmm?" He does not return my gaze.

"I want you to know that I will do my best for this mission," I said, watching him meaningfully.

"Yeah, you do that."

His words cut through me like an icy knife. I avert my gaze back outside the window, yet I did not cry. I have not cried for a long, long time...

He turns up the stereo and drowns me out.

And then, I realize something. I will prove myself to Lauro in the only way I know how — by being efficient. If I make him see that I am better than that other fratello, then he won't have to continue with this needless assistance, and I can go back to seeing missions out personally.

With this firmly set in my mind, time escapes me; we are back in Siena in no time at all and go up the deserted bell tower. When we reach the top, there are sniper rifles awaiting us — a PGM miniature Hecate, a Walther WA2000, and my own SIG SG 550-1.

I receive instructions to set up the rifles, while Lauro speaks to Giuseppe nearby. I cannot hear them, too fussed with my task at hand.

Before too long, I glance at the remaining gun — the Hecate. I am puzzled as with what to do with it, and carry it over to my supervisor.

"Mr. Lauro, what shall I do with this Hecate?"

"Place it next to your SIG, just in case. It'll be better if we _don't_ have to use it," he says.

"Yes, sir." I turn around and walk fiercely and brazenly back over to my SIG, grim-faced as I set up the firearm. Behind me, Lauro and Giuseppe continue to converse, until Giuseppe moves onto his cyborg to help her with her Walther rifle.

I move onto my primary weapon shortly after and stare through the scope. I glance over my shoulder at the other fratello.

They are doing it, again. He speaks to her and she replies merrily. They work so...cooperatively.

_Where did your confidence go?_ I thought miserably to myself. _Why are you so afraid that she'll outdo you? You are excellent. Lauro seems to think so._ I pause.

No, he does not. If Lauro believed I was an excellent assassin, he would not have requested unnecessary help, would he? How much different would this situation be? Would I, perhaps, be under Lauro's watchful guard, receiving instructions and replying dedicatedly to them? We should be alone in this bell tower, as we always have been on missions. The other fratello's presence distracts me, and I don't hear Lauro's voice until it's too late.

"Elsa!" he barks, startling me. "Pay attention!"

"Y-yes, sir!" I reply in-kind, and stare impetuously through my sights, attempting to paint the ideal image of an assassin. My plan, however, does not go accordingly, for I have forgotten a key element: turning off the safety, as Lauro reminds me.

"Ah—!" I glance at it sideways, my mouth hanging open in shock. "I-I'm sorry, sir!"

"Forget it," Lauro says, his tone icily laced with disappointment. "Giuseppe, trade places with Elsa. She will probably miss today."

"No, please, I'm fine—"

The man walks up to me and pushes me aside briskly, with a whispered word of apology. I stand, very still. I am no longer aware of my surroundings. It is as if, with that gentle push, a switch was flipped, and my entire life seemed to be reversed.

_I never meant for him to think ill of me._

There is a commotion and they hurry to shoot. I am unresponsive. My mind swims with redundant thoughts and I mouth wordlessly like a fish. I feel weak and helpless.

Before too long, they hasten to leave quickly. I try to regain use of my motor functions, but any effort is in vain, and my eyes are fixated upon the two rifles set up before me.

Lauro pauses at the exit way, and I can feel his eyes upon me.

"God, you're so useless." He leaves me.

Useless.

Useless...

Inutile. Elsa è inutile.

Was my entire life up the basis for this sole moment? All of my trials and tribulations, all of my hard work and effort to be perfect for my supervisor and the Agency, to be shattered by the sole adjective of "useless"? I couldn't be useless, but my handler's judgment was never wrong. He was normally very, very right about everything.

I have failed. I have failed my purpose, my reason for living. I am of no use to him. The word fits with all the treatment I have ever been shown during my service to him — nothing but...

Hate.

The word crushes my conscious. It leaves me worthless and weak.

I felt like crying, yet it amazed me how I was still capable of holding onto my oath to never let another tear slide down my cheek. No, I simply stood and ogled.

I wondered if perhaps they had left already? Gone back to the Agency, leaving me behind in Siena with a few sniper rifles for company?

And then, I heard it. Shoes scraping against merciless pavement, coming back up the bell tower. I closed my gaping mouth and looked through narrowed eyes at the exit, and was surprised to find that my expression mirrored my handler's.

"Why are you standing around?" he shot furiously at me. "We have to _go!_"

I close my eyes, and nod solemnly.

"Yes, Lauro."

The first time his name has escaped my lips without the ridiculously polite "mister" attached to it.

Incredible.


	10. X

_author's note_

I would like to take this brief moment to thank my readers and my beta for all the help, support, and motivation they have provided. I hope everyone has enjoyed reading my take on her early fratello years, and a special thanks to SeraphJewel's "Vita e Morte" for inspiring this all.

Last of all, thanks to Yu Aida for conceiving this fabulous manga series in the first place. Without Yu, there would be no Elsa, no Lauro, and no wonderful story line to go off of.

**N U O V A V I T A** **— N E W L I F E**  
_act X_

I am furious. I am unhappy. I am sad.

On the journey back to Rome, Lauro berates me for my behavior in Siena. He tells me what an idiot I am, how useless I've become, tells me that I'll have to focus and work harder, or there will be more company on my missions from now on.

No.

I cannot deal with that. I cannot continue to exist knowing Lauro hates me so irrevocably so, and I will not stand to have a tagalong on my endeavors.

_Is there a way to fix this?_ I muse, staring out the window. We are almost home.

The side-mirror catches my eye again. I can see that horrific girl and her handler, laughing together in the car behind us. My eyes narrow into merely green slits and I look away, gazing at my supervisor.

"Mr. Lauro," I intone, clearly not endorsing the polite attachment. Not anymore.

"What?"

"I have something very important to show you tonight. It's at the park. Will you take me there?"

He glances at me, apprehensively. "Alright."

He then sighs irritably, as if I am a nuisance.

"This better be worth it."

Trust me, Lauro. It is. I must find something out for myself, something that may in fact dictate my future with you, it is that staggering.

I spend the rest of the day in my dormitory, polishing my pistol with precise care, neglecting to eat in the mess hall with everybody else. I sigh, running the cloth along the P229's obsidian barrel, and stare at the gun that has aided me so well during my service. Lauro chose this gun.

I rehearse my goals inside my mind for possibly the sixtieth time. If he truly hates me, he will not remember. If he believes I am worthless and disposable, then I have failed. Utterly, failed. What happens beyond that mid-point, I don't know. But I am afraid. There is a looming feeling in my stomach at the thought of returning to that place, that place where I had received my name.

"Elsa...deSica," I murmur, removing my hand from the barrel and flexing it in front of my face. "Who was I once, and what will I become...?"

With these words spoken, I turn to my window. It is becoming sunset; soon, the deciding moment will draw near. I take a clip out of my violin case and stand up, and stroll over to the mirror set on my dresser. I load my pistol with a sharp _snap!_ sound as I stare at my reflection defiantly, and she staring back at me, grim.

I know the cyborg's weakness. It is the eyes — my own pair of green, unextraordinary eyes. Who would have thought that they would end up being the only possible way to kill me? Of course, a bullet to the eye is a bullet to the brain, and a bullet to the brain will kill you. It is quite elementary. I wonder if the other cyborgs would've figured it out, had they not been told.

Probably not.

With another sigh, I place the gun in my hand on the table and wander over to the chair next to my window without it, sitting down. I rest my head upon the windowsill, and am greeted by none other than my supervisor's eye, watching me. I tilt the frame facedown and avert my gaze.

For the remaining hours, I am merely contemplative, until the clock strikes ten PM. A knock sounds from my door and I answer it, and am accosted by the man my feelings are so undoubtedly mixed on. He gazes downwards at me, slouching, hands in his pockets.

"Hurry up, let's go."

I nod and shut the door a second time. Lauro, it seemed, was consistently in a hurry to get things done; I pondered this while I picked up my P229 and strategically hooked it onto the back of my skirt, and covered it with my coat. I do not know at the time what possessed me to take my pistol along, but I did.

I neglect my hat and scarf and open the door a second time. We set off wordlessly down the corridor. Lauro waves to Giuseppe as he passes.

We scarcely converse whatsoever when we reach his Jeep. I tell him the specifics on how to get to our destination, and am quietly worried for the outcome of tonight as I sit down and click my seatbelt on.

"So what were you going to show me?" Lauro inquires halfway there, one arm casually slung over the steering wheel.

"I'll show you when we arrive, Mr. Lauro," I reply, staring ferociously ahead of me.

"...Like I said, it better be worth it."

I think about responding to his statement with a question of why he's so concerned, but decide not to. We will correspond as much as needed when we get there.

The park is not far from a shopping district; I remember, albeit faintly, coming there with Lauro when I first met him. Clear recollections alluded me often these days, for what reasons I do not know.

He stops the car and parks it, and we walk the remaining distance there, he in front of me, walking indolently. My Lauro; not a man of real effort, it appears. I wonder why this hadn't been clarion to me from the beginning.

Or perhaps it was, I merely decided to ignore it in favor of his more positive attributes.

A dark, seemingly sinister section of my mind related this particular night to Judgment Day; the day when God judges the morale of individual humans or the entire race as whole. I shudder and attempt to push the concept out of my mind, to focus on more vital things.

"So what do you want?" Lauro asks me, his tone reminiscent of a bored child.

"Mr. Lauro," I begin, noting that we have arrived to the very square in the center of the park where he gave me my name, the benches and trashcans sitting nearby. "Do you...remember this park?"

He freezes and turns around to look at me. "Huh?"

"My name. You gave me my name here. Elsa deSica."

He scratches his head thoughtfully. "Oh, I did? How do you remember that?"

I narrow my eyes.

"It was very important to me, so I never forgot it." I hoped that perhaps my words would speak some semblance of conveyed meaning to my momentarily dense supervisor.

We stand in the middle of the square. I hear crickets chirping all around me. It is not too late, I think — surely, he will recall that day to me in a moment... Surely...

"Is that it?" he says, sounding somewhat miffed as he moves to leave. "Let's go back. We have to wake up early tomorrow."

I don't move a muscle.

"I received my name here," I murmured, so quiet he probably didn't even hear.

This is what I was searching for, all my life, I realize. I have been searching for acceptance, appreciation for my effort, trying to please my supervisor to the best of my abilities. I've made this my life goal... Because he gave me this very life back to me. I received the blood in my veins, the function of my mind, the beating of my heart, all from a single sole individual, and he...

He doesn't care.

I clench my fists as I hear his voice again.

"Elsa, what are you _doing?_ This is the second time you've acted like this," he says, mild irritation setting into his pitch. "Now hurry _up_."

He waits. Slowly, I turn around on the spot, and notice he has his back turned, hands in his pockets.

"Give me a moment," I tell him, shakily lifting my coat and taking my pistol in my hand.

As I stare at it, my eyes wide, my mind is protesting at my thoughts by this point. It is screaming at me, loudly, yet simultaneously speaking consoling words of comfort that things can go on like this, that I can make things different.

_I can make things different,_ I muse, raising the gun upward with both of my hands, aiming at the back of Lauro's head. _I can only do it in a different way._

My finger closes in on the trigger. I try, I try so hard, not to think about what I'm about to do, for it feels more unspeakable than any murders I have ever committed beforehand.

I pull the trigger.

The gun sends off a thunderous bam, followed not too shortly by the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground.

"I'm sorry, Lauro..." I whisper. It is somehow more audible than anything else at this time — and then I realize the sound of the gun scared off the insects that were once conversing to each other.

I didn't truly endorse those words, but inside my mind, I felt them. It is like a separate part of me, one that knows not what I have been feeling as of late. It is a voice that is perpetually stuck in a time before now; I have only neglected to acknowledge its presence, though it is too late.

I open my eyes, almost terrified of what I will see.

My entire form begins to tremble and miniscule tears cloud my vision of Lauro's dead body, a pool of _his_ blood forming around the back of his head. My breathing is hitched and I find it takes considerable effort to continue receiving air into my lungs.

I blink. A slow and uneasy teardrop rolls down my reddened cheek. Soon, more follow after it, as I stand, still pointing the gun where my supervisor stood, incapable once again of grasping control of my motor functions while I cry and smile; a curious mix.

But the sense of weakness I am supposed to experience is not present. As if I have completely and totally abandoned that portion of my brain with the single shot of a pistol. I am whole once more, but there is no purpose for it. I have nothing left. I will probably die soon by the Agency's own hands, deemed useless without a handler.

More useless than I was at this moment.

"_Un'altra nuova vita, sprecata_," I whisper with a long, shaky exhalation of breath, lowering the pugnacious gun in my hands, still staring, transfixed, at Lauro's dead body, the smile gone from my face.

My eyes dart downwards at the pistol.

The image of that bellboy I killed only yesterday suddenly reappeared in my mind's eye.

I bring the gun slowly, slowly to my face, and stare down the barrel.

_I have never known what it is like, to be at the mere trigger pull of death. It is a very unusual prospect. But now... Will I know?_

It is a morbid scene, I would imagine. A purely innocent-looking girl standing in the park, the dead body of her father or her brother lying feet from her. And her, pointing the same gun she'd used to kill that man, at her right eye.

Minutes away from suicide.

My stomach feels sick, either from the scent of the blood, or the realization of what I was doing finally got to me. My hands are tight around the P229, my finger lingering dangerously by the trigger.

Two days ago, I would have never guessed that this might be my future, nor that my death would come so soon.

My finger is closer.

I would love to see how they resurrect me this time.

Closer...

"_Io mi chiamo..._" I murmur softly.

My finger twitches on the trigger.

Bang.


End file.
